Birthright
by Epiphany Under Moonlight
Summary: "Why are you so afraid of your parents!", he demanded trying to get into the room so he could do what he needed to stop this nightmare. "You wouldn't understand!", she screamed back tugging on his stupid journal knowing no matter what happened tonight he couldn't ruin that rug. Of course he wouldn't understand. How could he? He was a Pines and she was a Northwest.


Sometimes a kick-ass episode makes you excited to write some fanfiction.

* * *

The sun shone brilliantly through a floor to ceiling window that had been polished till the panes of glass were invisible. The room was warm, the air a perfect mix of comfortable that had been accomplished by temperature controls, air filters, and purifiers more than love and companionship. Laughter filled the air as her Father threw his head back and the Baron patted his knee in amusement.

"And _that's_ how you tame a wild boar.", her Father said with a wink as the Baron placed a hand on his chest sighing heartily.

"Ah Preston, this visit has been simply exquisite. I do believe I'll have to visit your quaint little corner of the world more often.", he stood as his personal servant rushed over adjusting his cape and medals. "Oh if only all of Gravity Falls could be as captivating as this little niche you've carved.", he continued, his words were mild but the condescension was all too clear.

He wasn't called Sneer-Snout for nothing.

Her Father nodded sagely, the 'quaintness' of their town was a sore spot for him. "Indeed, but I assure you Gregory, it is something I am working on.", he tented his fingers together tapping them methodically.

A nod and slight bow was all the two men exchanged before the Baron left their home to return to his land. Her Father watched his guest leave as the smile slowly disappeared taking all trace of emotion with it. She studied him for a moment before looking down.

The warmth was gone, the sunshine dimmed.

"Dad don't even worry about it. I mean - ", she scoffed, "Is Count Whats-his-face even from someplace where the people don't read by candlelight? I can just imagine them oohing over a flashlight like something from a movie! Hello Siri? Is it 1492?", she laughed flipping her hair and then flinched as she heard the soft jingling of the bell.

Had she laughed too loud? Talked too much?

"Pacifica...you are a Northwest.", her Father's voice was gentle as he stood, walking slowly towards a portrait of them that hung against the wall. "That means something."

Do you know what?", he turned then and even from a distance he was commanding.

She bit her lip. It was like being called on by a teacher in class when you were only half-sure you knew the answer. The quiet swallowed the small space as she faltered at admitting what she'd perceived about her world through every experience in her life. He lifted his chin, a signal for her to stand, and she walked carefully before stopping next to him as she stared up at the portrait of her family. Her Father stood tall and strong, her Mother beautiful and graceful, and herself...popular, fashionable, everything anyone could envy.

"You are next in a long-line of success and accomplishment. You are the evidence of everything that I, your Mother, and every Northwest before you has achieved. The future has been bred into you Pacifica. There is no doubt you will finish everything I have ever aspired to and make your Mother and I proud. This is your birthright."

She didn't have many moments with her parents. They were always busy, it was...whatever. The moments when she had to keep the perfect smile plastered on her face as she stared down at the empty chairs her parents should have been sitting in. Or fight away the doubts that had come with the piece of paper Dipper had shoved through a car window like it wasn't something earth-shattering. Moments like that could be forgotten because of moments like this. She stared up at the painting and began to beam with pride. So what if one little piece of history wasn't true. Her family had still achieved more than everyone else. They were still special and she was. She (i)was(i) special. She was part of something rare. She was someone who had a reason for being, a legacy that existed down to every cell in her body and promised that her future would be great. She didn't have to be afraid because the world was her's on a diamond-encrusted platter.

"You may go now Pacifica.", he commanded. She nodded still smiling. "Of course Dad."

She backed out of the room. It wasn't like on TV where the show always ended on a smiling family moment. For her this was so fragile, so easy to be break and ruin. She couldn't stay by his side too long. Couldn't risk a special moment going from amazing to a nightmare so it was better to leave him. To close this scene and place it inside a mental china cabinet where it would be safe.

Before she could be free her back hit something cold and sturdy as she felt her balance in the world upset with the clatter of dishes and the scent of tea. Gloved hands rushed to help her and for a second she imagined it was her Father before she knew better.

"Ugh! Watch it!", she snapped glaring at the butler as he bowed once politely, "Most sorry Miss. Northwest."

"Pacifica!", her Father's voice filled the air silencing all other noises the same way a sudden burst of thunder hushed the world. She froze as she watched a rivulet of brown water slowly trace a path towards the rug as she looked on in horror. "Get it!", she screamed to the butler as the man grabbed a cloth napkin first cutting off the tea's impending contact before he wiped it back to its source.

Safe.

His favorite rug pattern remained untarnished. Relief escaped her body slowly as she stood up and sought her Father's eyes hesitantly. Was it...?

A cold narrowed expression slowly relaxed til he looked calm again. "Dad I - " "Its alright Pacifica. I'll schedule more decorum classes for your balance. Can't have you stumbling about like a clumsy animal. Luckily the rug wasn't damaged.", she looked down on the scene.

On the adult man on his hands and knees as he carefully buffed at the mess. Not enough to simply wipe up the liquid, he had to remove evidence of this mistake. Not even a few droplets would be allowed to remain and risk water damage.

She rubbed her arm nervously. The rug was preserved but the moment she'd shared wither her Father didn't seem to be. She tried to think of something that could reform that connection.

She sighed in irritation, "Poor people are so aggravating.", she said loudly lifting a hand to cradle her forehead as she peeked at her Father through her fingers. The man below them didn't stop cleaning, his motions hurried as if he couldn't hear her insulting him. He worked to keep that carpet clean because whatever disappointment she faced would be nothing compared to the dock in his paycheck.

Preston snorted lightly, a deep chuckle rumbling in his throat. "You see Pacifica? This is the way the world works, those who are on top survive by those who are on the bottom. Some people will do anything for money."

She nodded as she watched her Father's retreating back. She turned to walk towards her bedroom and even though she didn't want to her eyes couldn't help but look back at the butler still buffing away at the floor.

* * *

A new day brought new annoyances.

She had to meet one of her friends at the mall, they'd launched the new **phoneE(tm)** last night which meant her amazing phone that was better than anyone else'sin Gravity Falls was now obsolete. Her new shoes were too tight and she'd have a meeting with Madame Buttery in the afternoon for her decorum class. She rushed down the stairs already in a bad mood as she heard her ringtone. She grumbled as she pulled it from her purse.

"I'm coming!", she yelled into her cell phone as she turned the corner and then stopped wincing at the pinching feeling coming from her feet. "I'll be there soon okay? Just pay someone to get in line for us.", she ordered with a roll of her eyes. "Ugh, these new shoes are ridiculous!", she snapped as she hit the button to hang up and put her hand against a picture on the wall to steady herself. She pressed a hand against the canvas as she adjusted the strap on her shoe. The shoes sucked and she wished she could throw them away but they were gorgeous. So limited edition that only ten of them had been made but they were agony to wear. She grunted as she hopped tugging on the strap and felt a slight give from the wall. "Come on you stupid thing!", and then her hand tore through the material flinging her into darkness and dust.

For the second time in less than 24 hours she'd been knocked down head over ridiculously overpriced heels.

Through her confusion she could hear a muffled gasp and a familiar voice. "Miss Northwest! I'm coming!", she heard the clatter of metal against wood as as she struggled to push herself up. She gasped coughing as dust filled her lungs and shuddered. Ugh it was in her hair! She shook and slapped her hands flitting over her body as she tried to remove all the sensations of creepy crawlies looking around in confusion.

Where the heck was she? Where was this?

It was hard to see in the darkness but the light from the hallway provided some clarity. She looked around frowning at the furniture cloaked in shadows and cobwebs, some hidden in sheets that had long since pillowed to the ground in waves of grime. She turned slowly as the butler began to lightly brush her with a napkin, sharp flicks that knocked the debris of time away.

"Turn please Miss?", she did so and saw familiar dark gray eyes.

She flinched when she saw her Father's face staring down coldly at her. Apologies flew from her lips before she really knew what she was saying. "He did it! I was walking and then I tripped over his cleaning stuff and - !", she stopped when she realized the emotionless expression staring back at her was, for once, rightfully lifeless.

She blinked at the portrait. "Oh...", she whispered and then frowned realizing something was wrong.

Something caught her attention from the periphery of her vision and she turned to see another collection of paintings crowded together. They looked like the ones that hung within the hall of _Northwest Family Successes _but...

She stared at bags of money held up gleefully as the mask that hid his face revealed more than his innocent smiling face had before. In another fingers crossed as the man looked cruelly toward the painter pleased his betrayal would be recorded for all time.

"What is this?", she asked in confusion as she faced the man who had been in this house longer than she had. For once he didn't seem like the bumbling idiot she was used to but like an adult to be feared. His back was straight, expression clear. For his part he'd almost forgotten she was in the room, too entranced by the truth before him to play his role. He'd heard the rumors that these paintings existed but it was the first time his eyes had ever set sight on them. "I believe...", he said slowly as he stared at generations of human spitefullness.

"This is your family history."

"What?!", she protested her voice climbing octaves. "No! That guy's clearly a thief! My ancestor was not a thief! He was the only one willing to meet up with the Indians and talk to them when everyone else was afraid! He made the deal that really started ! You don't even know what you're talking about!"

He frowned for a moment suddenly recognizing fully that she was in the room. "Is that what you've been told Pacifica?"

There was something about the way he said her name that suddenly terrified her. "You're right. He was the only one to meet with them. He went when others were afraid and brokered the deal that did become Gravity Falls when all we had was a small patch of land .", his eyes slowly narrowed. "It was he and he alone that was there to make up the lies he would claim later were truths. Only he ever knew...or only he had the evidence of what others whispered."

"In the end he betrayed those people just like Nathaniel, just like every Northwest in your blood line. Those poor people shuffled off the land to die in the wilderness while your ancestor reaped the praise and reward that would become the foundation of all your family's wealth."

"It can't be true.", she looked down at her feet. Her brand new shoes were now covered in filth. "Why would these even exist?", she whispered. "Because Pacifica, it is not enough for the Northwests to simply succeed and prosper on the backs of others. Not enough to simply know the suffering they've caused. No they keep souvenirs of their treachery. Tokens of their ruthlessness.", an image came into her mind suddenly.

Tucked against the mirror of the vanity in her bedroom was the perfectly laminated clipping from her editorial in the paper about v-necks. At the time it had been a small triumph against that loser with the old woman's name that she'd enjoyed snatching from her when she least expected it. Her own token... It was only later when she thought maybe it wasn't something to be proud of that she'd paid her way to the spot when Mabel had achieved it on her own.

"I think these paintings show what your family is truly proud of."

She faltered for a moment and for the first time he saw a glimmer of humanity in her eyes. Confusion, doubt, less of the perfectly self-assured little girl she'd always been. She turned to look at her parents portraits again, this time closely. Her father looked impassive and impressive. The world at his feet, medals he hadn't earned hanging from his chest. Her mother was the beauty queen. Her eyes closed in pleasure not even needing to look into the mirror to know what a shelf of pageant trophies told her.

She didn't know why she looked desperately for something she could immediately see wasn't there.

She wasn't even in the portrait.

His words echoed in her ears and she remembered how badly she'd treated him, how badly everyone in her family had treated him.

"Why - why do you work for us?", she asked slowly.

"Because Pacifica...your father is right.", he looked over her once. She was mostly cleaned, a little banged up but fine. He pocketed the napkin he'd used, "Some people will do anything for money.", he breathed remembering how many years he'd devoted to this family. The fraud and cruelty he'd seen committed by them through the decades. "Including something they hate."

He didn't mean for the words to sound as angry as they were, but they were. Icy blue eyes widened and she was a child. He sighed slowly making his way out of the hidden compartment holding the torn fabric open for her to exit. Even though she didn't want to her eyes couldn't help but look back at the painting of her family. The nobility and power that had shone through every single brush stroke before was now gone. These were dirty. Old, immature, and ugly. They were people at their worst and the evidence of everything she'd seen in people's eyes growing up. Not envy. Not jealousy. Hatred.

She crawled out of the room the sudden flash of light nearly blinding her as she stumbled down the hall. She looked desperately for her Father and found him in his sacred room.

"Dad I need to ask you something.", she whispered her vision becoming blurry as her voice cracked slightly. He turned surprised as his eyes widened seeing his typically flawless daughter now looking like a grubby orphan. "Pacifica! The rug!", her Father barked.

"Dad I'm serious!", she protested even as the jingle of the bell sent a jolt up her spine.

"Dad please?", she begged as the clanging grew louder in her ears.

"There was a room with a bunch of paintings and - !", the toll of the bell made her heart ache. Every mistake, every embarrassment, every time her parents eyes turned cold and disapproving. She stopped walking and slowly stepped backwards till she was no longer on the rug. Till a doorway separated her from everything she thought she knew about the world. Her Father nodded in satisfaction. "Very good." He turned away from his daughter, from her tears and tantrum and looked back at his own painted face. Perfect. He clasped his hands behind his back before he spoke.

"Pacifica...you are a Northwest.", he said gravely. "And that...means something.",

* * *

Notes:

1\. Did anyone notice in the episode _Northwest Mansion Mystery/Noir_ that Pacifica's Father says towards the end about the panic room, "There's enough mini-sandwiches and oxygen to last you, me, and a butler a full week." ...He uh, he never mentioned Pacifica's Mom in his plan.

2\. If Dipper and Pacifica did ever hook up in the future and she hyphenated her name would be: Pacifica Northwest Pines. The girl would be a freaking national park.


End file.
